Both
were excellent in their way, and Gregory was, in his way, an excellent
husband. Jocantha rather suspected herself of making him a very charming
wife, and more than suspected herself of having a first-rate dressmaker.
"I don't suppose a more thoroughly contented personality is to be found
in all Chelsea," observed Jocantha in allusion to herself; "except
perhaps Attab," she continued, glancing towards the large tabby-marked
cat that lay in considerable ease in a corner of the divan. "He lies
there, purring and dreaming, shifting his limbs now and then in an
ecstasy of cushioned comfort. He seems the incarnation of everything
soft and silky and velvety, without a sharp edge in his composition, a
dreamer whose philosophy is sleep and let sleep; and then, as evening
draws on, he goes out into the garden with a red glint in his eyes and
slays a drowsy sparrow."
"As every pair of sparrows hatches out ten or more young ones in the
year, while their food supply remains stationary, it is just as well that
the Attabs of the community should have that idea of how to pass an
amusing afternoon," said Gregory. Having delivered himself of this sage
comment he lit another cigarette, bade Jocantha a playfully affectionate
good-bye, and departed into the outer world.
"Remember, dinner's a wee bit earlier to-night, as we're going to the
Haymarket," she called after him.
Left to herself, Jocantha continued the process of looking at her life
with placid, introspective eyes.
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